


when the stars go blue

by wokeupscully



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Blowjobs, Fingering, Intensely Requited Love, M/M, Tommy Leans Against A Wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 13:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14570136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wokeupscully/pseuds/wokeupscully
Summary: Looking up at the sky for the stars is useless in Los Angeles, but Tommy does it anyway, getting only the familiar haze of smog and light pollution. On a night like this one, with the revelations he’s had and the long-buried emotions he’s feeling, Tommy wishes the skies were clear. It seems like there should be stars burning overhead, constellations telling him what he should do or however astrology works. Instead he has a sky that looks like a mess, light from houses and streetlamps and spotlights illuminating patches at random.It doesn’t give him the answers he needs.Jon's shoulder is warm where it brushes up against his and Tommy feels blown over by it, by the gentle intimacy of a closeness they’ve shared countless times now. His mind runs wild with well-worn fantasies that give him the same feeling: completing each other's sentences, falling asleep with him on a couch, bodies pressed tight so as not to fall off, kissing him on his forehead, on his knuckles, the curve of his shoulder.





	when the stars go blue

**Author's Note:**

> me? writing sappy vietreau fics? it's more likely than you think
> 
> thanks to maddie for the beta

It has only been a few days since it was announced that Ronan had won the Pulitzer Prize and Lovett has somehow managed to get a party going that’s attended by seemingly everyone, celebrity or otherwise, that they had ever rubbed elbows with. It’s a truly astonishing assortment of people; officials from the State Department mingling with movie stars who are talking to folks from the National Security team. Tommy thinks he saw Katy Perry not too long ago, but this place is so packed that he can’t quite be sure.

He also managed to convince Jon to host it at his house by sending him some truly appalling photos of the state of his living room that caused Tommy to wince when he looked at. Sure, he likes to keep his things neat more than most people, but he isn’t sure how Lovett even gets around. Maybe he put more clutter in the photo to make it look worse than it usually was just to get out of the cleaning he would have had to do to host a party this big.

He lost track of both Lovett and Favs a while ago and is starting to feel out of place without them, talking to celebrities that he has never heard of about shows and movies he has not watched. Ira may have had confidence that he knew who Cardi B was, but, as much as Tommy was loathe to say it, Ira was wrong.

He weaves through the crowd, looking for Jon, but willing to settle at this point for anyone he knows. Someone he thinks looks familiar, but that he can’t place a name to - probably a celebrity then, since Tommy is pretty sure he hasn’t forgotten the people he worked with in the Obama administration - asks him where the bathroom is and the house is so packed it takes him a moment to orient himself to be able to give them directions.

It’s an odd feeling, not knowing where he is in Jon’s house. He's been here so often that he knows this place by heart. When he'd first moved to Los Angeles, he would sometimes end up in the wrong room in his house, trying to follow the layout of Jon’s place. For a long time, it had felt more like home than his house had.

Spotting Jon over in a corner fills him with relief and he makes his way there, only to be beaten to the punch by some blonde woman - definitely a celebrity, Tommy thinks, no way she’s anything but - who smiles and flips her hair and giggles at whatever Favs has to say. He marvels for a while at the way this all seems to come so easy to Jon, being charming and beautiful and witty. He can so easily capture the attention of an entire room and anyone in it.

Tommy used to be jealous of him for that, in the early days in Chicago. He wanted to be able to do that, and more importantly and more secretly, he had wanted Jon to turn that attention on him. There had been times where they had gone out together and Tommy’s gaze never strayed from Jon once, so captivated by him back then. Favs would flirt and get girls’ numbers and never call and Tommy would feel a possessive flare build in his chest and he would have to remind himself that Favs wasn’t his, had never been his. When Jon turned on his charm, it was easy to forget.

That same fire is in his chest now, all these years later, watching this happen. Watching Jon reach out and place his hand - long fingers and delicate wrist - on this girl’s elbow, watching his lips curl up into a smirk, watching him take a step closer so casually that it seems natural.

And suddenly this party which had been raucous and loud and intense and filled with people he didn’t know is now _too_ loud and _too_ raucous and _too_ intense and he still doesn’t really know anyone here, is now uncomfortable with the press of strangers all around him.

Tommy slinks away and finds the back door, leans against the wall of the house, breathing in and out in steady, counted measures, like the Headspace app would tell him to if he were listening to it at the moment.

He had loved Jon before.  
  
In Chicago, on the campaign. They'd shared a cubicle and hotel rooms and lived in each other's pockets and Tommy had loved him. Loved his smile and his laugh and his terrible haircut and his laid back ease.   
  
He'd kept it close to his chest and then he had moved on.   
  
He had his job and then he had the White House and then he'd had Katie. And then he didn't have Katie and then he didn't have the White House and then he didn't really have a job either. He’d lost his father along the way, too.

But he still had Jon.   
  
And Christ, he still has Jon, even after nearly fifteen years and the love that Tommy thought he'd dealt with, thought he’d left behind so, so long ago feels trapped in his throat all at once.   
  
Spilling forward like a flood now that his chest has been cracked open.   
  
He loves Jon. Again? Still? Tommy isn't sure. Doesn't know if he'd simply managed to put this love in a box, tape it shut, and pretend it didn't exist or whether he'd really moved on like he thought he had and then somehow fallen for Favs all over again.   
  
Or both.   
  
There are shouts coming from inside Lovett's house where the party keeps going and Tommy knows he's not going to have this moment of peace for long. For all the celebrities milling around, for all that they are celebrating Ronan, Lovett wants to use this as a Crooked Media party. He's a Crooked Media founder. They will realize he's not there soon enough and will send someone, probably Jon, to look for him and he will have to come up with a reason why he's outside leaning against the wall in the dark because he won't admit to the truth.

He won't admit that it is because he saw Jon flirting with someone and was jealous that it wasn't him. Because Jon smiled at a blonde that wasn't him and is probably going to have her stay the night and she's not him.   
  
Footsteps fall softly in the grass and then come to stop, a shoulder brushing against his. Tommy doesn't have to look up to know that it's Favs because it is always Favs. When Tommy is feeling anxious or withdrawn or moody or intense and no one else knows what to do or how to reach him, it's Jon.   
  
Even when it's the earth shattering realization that he's in love with Jon, even when his chest is burning with it, it's Jon.   
  
Tommy doesn't have any words, not to explain how he's feeling and not to make an excuse either. Jon doesn't seem to need them, standing beside him against the wall, sharing the silence.   
  
He looks over at him and Jon's cheeks are flushed pink from the alcohol, eyes shining, his smile easy. Tommy's mind flashes him the image of a much younger Jon, huddled in his coat in the cold of the Chicago winter, looking at him just like this and he feels his chest go concave again.   
  
He smiles back at him, though, because when Favs smiles at you, there's really no other option. “Loud in there,” Tommy offers, and Jon searches his face intently, looking for something.

Whatever he finds, his face softens and he agrees, “It is.”

Tommy still doesn’t have anything to say so he just nods, shuts his eyes as he leans back against the wall.

“Would you rather I go?” Jon asks, and there’s no judgement there, only kindness, only genuine curiosity. Tommy could say yes and he wouldn’t take it personally, would know that he simply gets this way sometimes, where he needs to recenter himself with a few minutes alone.

“No,” Tommy responds automatically, honestly. “Stay.” He reaches out before he fully thinks it through, his fingers landing on the soft skin of the inside of Jon’s wrist. “Stay,” he repeats, quieter than before.

Looking up at the sky for the stars is useless in Los Angeles, but Tommy does it anyway, getting only the familiar haze of smog and light pollution. On a night like this one, with the revelations he’s had and the long-buried emotions he’s feeling, Tommy wishes the skies were clear. It seems like there should be stars burning overhead, constellations telling him what he should do or however astrology works. Instead he has a sky that looks like a mess, light from houses and streetlamps and spotlights illuminating patches at random.

It doesn’t give him the answers he needs.

Jon's shoulder is warm where it brushes up against his and Tommy feels blown over by it, by the gentle intimacy of a closeness they’ve shared countless times now. His mind runs wild with well-worn fantasies that give him the same feeling: completing each other's sentences, falling asleep with him on a couch, bodies pressed tight so as not to fall off, kissing him on his forehead, on his knuckles, the curve of his shoulder.

Breathing in deep, Tommy fights down the nearly overwhelming urge to do something stupid or crazy or both and say all of that out loud. Instead, he releases an exhale that seems steadier than he feels. Jon is still beside him and it takes a moment for Tommy to realize that he hasn’t yet dropped his wrist from where he’d reached out a few moments ago, Jon’s skin soft and warm under his fingers. Looking down at it, Jon’s wrist seems almost dainty compared to the size of his hand and Tommy breathes through thoughts of that as well, still staring down at it, at the contrast of Favs’ tan compared to the paleness of his own skin.

He stares longer than he should, long enough that if he looked up at Jon’s face, he’s sure to see a million questions in his eyes. Tommy lets his hand fall away and feels bereft the second he isn’t touching Jon anymore.

“Tommy?” Jon’s voice is soft, but he still hears it over the music and the laughter and the shouts coming from the party, like every one of his senses is so completely attuned to him in this moment.

He breathes and it isn’t as steady as it was before, the rush of emotions pounding in his chest becoming harder to ignore, to push aside. Tommy looks for the words he needs to tell Jon that he’s alright, that he’s fine, really.

They dry up in his throat when Jon’s hand rests on his jaw, turns his face to look at him. And, oh, it’s so much harder to breathe - in and then out, in and then out - with the tenderness in Jon’s eyes, with their faces so close together that Tommy swears he can feel Favs breathing - not perfectly steady either. What can Tommy say when Jon’s thumb brushes across his cheekbone, gentle and slow?

“Yeah,” is the only thing he manages to come up with, sounding raw and breathless.

Tommy could - Tommy could kiss him right now. Tommy wants to kiss him right now. Jon’s eyes look darker now than they usually do, his lips slightly parted as though he’s thinking the same thing.

“Is this -”

A bang of a door cuts him off, abruptly followed by Lovett’s voice. “I go to the effort of hosting a party and my two co-founders are-” He stops dead in the middle of whatever tirade he was about to go on, apparently only just now processing the sight of them doing - whatever that was going to be, whatever was about to happen there. “Having a moment, I guess.” Lovett’s voice is unusually unguarded, as though he’s genuinely thrown by what he’s seeing. “Alright, well. I, uh, I’ve got a ‘long time golf buddy’ to go find too. So… that is - that’s what I’m gonna go do.”

Lovett pivots sharper than Tommy has ever seen him move before walking quickly away, the door shutting behind him again just as loudly.

Jon’s hand drops from his face and Tommy takes a step back, sighing as he slumps against the wall once more, suddenly unfathomably exhausted. He scrapes his hands across his face, eyes shut. “Jon,” he tries, and his voice is strangled so he clears his throat and tries again. “Jon, I - that was…”

Tommy isn’t sure where he was going with that but his chest feels punched out when Jon shakes his head, says, “Don’t worry about it. It was nothing, yeah?” Jon looks tentative, though, like he’s waiting for Tommy to say either way. Like he wants to be contradicted, in a way Favs really almost never wants to be told he’s wrong.

“No,” Tommy admits, blurting it out before he can allow himself to think better of it. Before he can put these emotions back in a box, before he can pretend that he isn’t in love with him, hasn’t been in love with him for years. For possibly all this time.

It comes out rushed and he pauses, shakes his head and steps back into Jon’s space from where he’d just retreated, and repeats, “No.” This time his voice is level, serious. His hands rest on Jon’s shoulders, as though allowing him to retreat in this moment would be - it would be too much. “It -”

Tommy swallows back whatever he was going to say, not sure where it was headed anyway and simply kisses Jon, tries to pour everything he is, has, and feels into it. Maybe Favs, the wordsmith, will be able to know what it means, will be able to take this feeling, all these feelings combined, and say what it is. The kiss starts out frantic and fierce. But as both of them sink into it - as they both realize that the other isn’t pulling away, isn’t stepping back, isn’t saying no - it softens.

Tilting his head to the side just a little, Tommy brushes his tongue against Jon’s bottom lip, asking, seeking, searching. Jon’s mouth doesn’t taste all that different from most people Tommy has kissed at parties through the years - beer and a hint of salt, as well as whatever candy Jon has been eating even though he always complains the day after. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel different. Like this doesn’t feel like a miracle, like a dream he’d given up on wishing for handed down to him. Perfect.

The kiss ends but neither Tommy nor Jon make any move to be further apart, their foreheads pressed together, breath intermingling between them. Whatever the look on Jon’s face is now, Tommy hasn’t seen it before - some combination of awe and confusion and tenderness and something else that Tommy just can’t identify but that he loves. He files this expression away into the section of his mind dedicated only to memorizing every bit of Jon - his different expressions, his different moods, his different laughs, his everything - a collection of knowledge that Tommy built up over the years of being his best friend, of being by his side for and through everything.

“Come on,” Jon whispers and inclines his head toward the house. Tommy is about to say that he’ll join him in a second once he catches his breath, but when Favs’ fingers lace in with his, he understands what he’s asking. He doesn’t want to go back to the party either.

Tommy follows Jon into the house, quietly shutting the door that Lovett had slammed earlier, feeling so much like he had while he was back in college, sneaking upstairs at a party to hookup with girls who he would always smile politely at later and guys who he would then pretend didn’t exist. Halfway up the stairs, Tommy squeezes Jon’s hand, getting him to look back at him so that he can lean forward and kiss him right there and he can feel the slight vibrations of Jon’s moan against his lips more than he can actually hear it.

“Are we…” Jon licks his lips, looking for the words, eyes flitting sideways, nervous. “Are we doing this?” The hand motion Jon makes in between their two bodies doesn't clarify what he's asking and the twist at the corner of Jon’s mouth tells Tommy that he knows it didn't convey what he was truly trying to say. So he waits, running his thumbs in soothing circles on his hips.

“There were times, Tommy…” he starts again, “where I thought I could see - where you looked at me like -” Jon’s words are rushed, pitch trailing upward the way it does when he’s nervous about what he’s trying to say.

“But then - nothing changed. It would be there one minute and then the next it would be like I never saw anything. And you never let on that maybe -”

Tommy’s chest feels like his heart has been turned to ash, thinks maybe he can taste it in his throat, when he realizes exactly what reassurance Jon is asking for, what he’s saying.

“Yeah,” Tommy kisses him again, trying to figure out how to say what Jon needs him to, but all it manages to do is scramble his thoughts to the point where he isn’t sure what he’s trying to think about anymore until he looks into Jon’s eyes again.

“I - god, I - back in Chicago,” he starts, and he sees Jon’s eyes widen, his mouth drop as he processes what that means, just how long ago that was, “I was so head over heels for you. And it - it never seemed like the right time to bring it up. I always told myself that it wasn’t the right time. Or that I didn’t want to risk what we had. But then… I - I moved on. Or I thought I did.”

Tommy buries his face in Jon’s neck, unable to resist the temptation of mouthing at the skin, at the pulse beating there, as he continues, “But,” he laughs a little, pulling back to smile at Jon, amazed at the words he’s about to say, stroking the backs of his fingers over his cheek, “here I am again.”

This kiss is different than all the ones before it, desperation tingeing every second of it. Tommy presses forward, eliminating the space between their bodies, and he can feels Favs’ hips pressing up into his. Jon’s fingers scrabble at his shoulders, pushing him back, and Tommy steps back.

“The railing has been pushing into my back this whole time,” Jon pants, and for some reason Tommy feels that in his chest - that Jon had been uncomfortable this whole time but hadn’t cared because he wanted to hear what Tommy had to say, because he wanted Tommy to keep kissing him, “and if we keep going, this is going to be something I would not want these guests seeing.”

Tommy doesn’t know how Jon has enough mental capacity to think about the party going on. He’s long since forgotten the people downstairs, just rooms away. All he cares about right now is Jon and getting Jon upstairs so that they can do exactly what he doesn’t want his houseguests to see. This is all that matters.

It still takes effort to leave Jon’s space when all Tommy wants is to stay right next to him, to soak in the addictive warmth radiating off his body. He steals a few more kisses - two then three then four - before grabbing Jon’s hand, leading him up the stairs of his own house. If Jon notices that, he doesn’t care, squeezing Tommy’s hand tight and staring at him like he’s not entirely sure he isn’t dreaming.

Holding back from kissing him feels like the hardest thing Tommy’s ever had to do and the second the door to Jon’s bedroom shuts behind him, he stops trying to resist. His hands lace through Jon’s hair as he crowds up close to him, their bodies flush together, pulling him in. “Jon,” he whispers, moving his lips down the strong edge of his jaw, hands pushing up under his shirt, wanting skin. “What - what do you want? How far is this gonna go?”

The moan that leaves Jon at that is a sound that Tommy will never forget. He wants to hear him make it again, wants to find every other noise that Jon has that’s just like that, wants everything from him.

Jon’s breath is hitching under his lips where they’re pressed against the base of his neck, against the pulse thundering there. He waits until it’s obvious that he’s not going to get a response and he dives deep inside him for the will to pull back. “Tell me, Jon. I have to know how far I can take this.”

Jon’s lips are redder than usual, a little swollen from kissing, and Tommy can’t stop his eyes from darting down to stare before meeting his eyes again. “Tom,” Jon’s voice sounds wrecked, it’s low and hoarse and it makes Tommy’s cock twitch in his pants. “I don’t know -  there’s just so much. Fuck, I want - everything. All at once. And I - please.”

Tommy more than understands that feeling. There are so many things he wants, so many possibilities that it’s nearly impossible to choose. Stepping closer, he pulls off Jon’s shirt, because he wants skin and that’s an easy decision to make. “I could - you want me to suck you off?”

It’s the first thing he thought of but Tommy can’t deny that he wants it. He wants to go down on Jon, taste him. His mouth is watering with it. “And I could, I could get a finger or two inside you while your cock is in my mouth.”

The whine that leaves Jon is shaky and high with need and the look on his face doesn’t leave much room for questioning but still, Tommy asks, “Would that be good? You want that?”

Jon bites his lip and nods and it’s an appealing image but Tommy wants to hear him say it. Tommy wants to make him say it.

He falls to his knees, mouthing over Jon’s fly, lips mapping the hardness there. Looking up through his eyelashes he commands, “Say it, Jon. You want to put your cock in my mouth?”

“God, Tommy,” is Jon’s only reply and Tommy stops what he’s doing to raise an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, I want that.”

Tommy tuts and shakes his head, a smirk on his lips as he waits. A blush rises up Jon’s face and his voice is high and thready as he gives in. “I want my cock in your mouth, please.”

It’s what he’d been working for, but he still hadn’t been quite prepared to hear it, moaning against the fabric of Jon’s jeans, hands working at his zipper. Mouth watering, he leans his forehead against the flat of Jon’s thigh to give himself a second to breathe, soaking in the scent of him. The fingers Jon laces through his hair are gentle and Tommy presses a quick, chaste kiss the soft skin of his upper thigh before refocusing on what he was doing, getting him out of his clothes, leaving him bare to his touch.

“Bed,” Jon gasps and Tommy gets up off of his knees, pulling off his shirt as he goes. Looking at Jon naked is stunning and he reaches out, fingers trailing lightly over Jon’s collarbone, down the curve of his ribs. Tommy sprawls his hand across Jon’s chest, moving down, mesmerized by the way the muscles tense and relax under his touch.

“Tom,” gets his attention again and he can see a wild desperation in Jon’s eyes that is mirrored in the emotions and the arousal clawing their way up his chest.

He kisses Jon because he can and because he wants to but then Tommy smiles at him, shifting down the bed to finally get his mouth on him. It's a stretch as he sinks down slowly - it's been a while since he's done this and Tommy has to focus on remembering to hollow out his throat, to breathe through his nose. It's good - it's always been good - getting to set his mind only to this task and he starts moving up and down Jon’s cock, taking a little more each time as he gets into the rhythm of it.

The taste of Jon is sharp on his tongue and Tommy chases it, tonguing at the slit and meeting Jon’s eyes when he moans. Tommy runs his hands up Jon’s thighs, settling them into the soft crease where his thighs meet his ass and this time Jon doesn't need any prodding to say, “Your fingers, Tommy. I want them inside me, please.”

“Okay, yeah,” he replies, pointing wordlessly at Jon’s nightstand, getting a nod in response. Rifling through it, Tommy finds the lube tucked away in the corner, next to what he’s pretty sure is a vibrator. He lifts his eyebrows at Jon and watches him blush, kisses his cheek before crawling back down his body.

The pop of the cap is loud in the quiet of the room and Tommy feels the way Jon’s leg goes tense under his lips. “Relax,” he whispers, lips brushing across his skin. “Relax.”

Tommy slicks up his fingers, rubbing the line in between them to warm it up a little. As a distraction, he takes Jon back into his mouth, suckling on the head of his cock as he runs a finger over Jon’s hole.

For a while, that's all he does, circling the rim with barely-there pressure, waiting until he feels Jon go loose, until his hips are pushing back into the touch for more. “Good boy,” Tommy whispers as he slides the first finger in and Jon whines, hands tugging at Tommy’s hair.

“I should have seen that one coming,” Tommy mutters fondly. “Of course you like to be praised.”

Jon splutters. “Everyone likes compliments, Tommy.”

“But not everyone makes _that_ noise about it,” he retorts, moving his finger in and out slowly, watching the way Jon’s hole stretches around it. “God, you're so hot, Jon.”

Another whimper leaves Jon, his cock jumping, and this time Tommy doesn't say anything at all but looks up at him with a smirk.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Jon says, hands over his face, groaning. “It's a thing, you dick.”

Tommy laughs, resting his forehead against Jon’s thigh as they both giggle together. He slides his finger in and out again, curling it up until Jon’s laughter cuts off in a gasp.

Taking Jon’s cock back into his mouth, he chases that noise again, sliding a second finger in beside the first. He loses himself in it, in Jon hot and hard in his mouth, in the tight heat of him around his fingers. Tommy aches with how turned on he is and he desperately wishes that he'd taken the time to strip off his clothes as well because his cock is pressing against the zipper of his jeans painfully but he's not willing to pull back from Jon. He spreads his fingers apart, rubbing them in alternating strokes, trying to get him to come.

“Come on, Jon,” he pulls off his cock, voice scraped out, “give it up, give it to me.” He dips his head back down, not taking Jon deep but playing with the head of his cock, flicking his tongue over the slit.

“Fuck, Tom,” Jon gasps, reaching down to push at his shoulders but Tommy stays put, wrapping his lips around his cock. He doesn't usually like swallowing all that much, but right now he wants to, wants to have everything.

It's so much, Jon filling up his senses. The scent of him, the heat of him, the taste of him flooding his mouth. Tommy lets a few drops escape, wiping them off his bottom lip for the theatrics of it, but from the way Jon’s eyes track the movement so intently, it works.

“Get up here, come on,” Jon pants and Tommy kisses his way up his chest as they both work to get his zipper undone.

“Oh my fucking god,” he rasps when Jon gets a hand around his cock, pressing kisses along his throat. Tommy's hips jerk forward in Jon’s touch and he isn't going to last long.

He wants to kiss Jon but he isn't sure that would be welcome after he just swallowed so he aimlessly drops kisses along his jaw, his cheekbones, his forehead.

“Jon, dude, fuck I’m close,” Tommy breathes out, burying his face in the crook of Jon’s neck.

“‘Dude,’” Jon teases, his voice incredulous and faux-indignant. “I can't believe you just called me dude while I’m touching your dick.”

Tommy laughs again and it's amazing, the ease he feels in being here with Jon like this. The way they laugh and tease and joke just like always. Except they're here and they're doing this. He kisses Jon and his lips part underneath him, the kiss soft and slow in contrast to Jon’s hand on his cock, stroking him off rough and fast.

Tommy's breathing is labored now, gasping for air as tension coils in his gut, his whole body screaming for release. Jon bites down sharply on his lower lip and it's that tiny pinprick of pain that sends him flying, white covering his vision for a few seconds before he comes back to Earth.

He's laying on top of Jon, arms having given out when he came and he goes to push himself up but Jon holds him fast, keeping them pressed together. Smiling, Tommy stays, letting his weight rest on him.

A scream from the party startles both of them and Tommy pouts, “We’re gonna have to go back to the party, aren't we?”

“Yeah,” is Jon’s entire reply, sounding equally put out by it.

“Lovett's gonna ask us a hell of a lot of questions, isn't he?” Tommy follows up.

“Yeah,” Jon’s reply this time is fond, but he's still shaking his head.

For a moment, Jon doesn't say anything else, but Tommy can tell from his expression that he wants to.

He feels Jon lace their fingers together and looks down at it, a soft smile on his face. When he looks back up, Jon is smiling too, but there's a hesitant look in his eye, like he wants reassurance.

“Yeah?”

Tommy nods, letting how much he adores Jon bleed through his expression before giving him a lingering kiss on his forehead. Jon is smiling beatifically and Tommy can't help but smile too. “Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ tvietor08 on tumblr


End file.
